A Hundred Ways Out
by Luce Ravenier
Summary: There are many ways out of any trap you're in. It's all in which path you decide to take. Rated M for graphic violence, noncon and con sexual situations, implied child abuse and strong language.
1. Thinking It Over

Felt like two or three years passed on that silly old bitch's ship. Wasn't that long.Feels good to be out. Alone again. No one to be bothered with. Left Jack on New Mecca and hauled ass out. Took a ship, traded it off, got another one. Nobody died. Made some jumps, took a few jobs. A few risks. Always some risks somewhere; might as well pick the ones you take. Startin' to look like easy street. 

I've been waiting for the sun to fall, so to speak.

So why in the hell I booked myself another week in the eastern port of Delphi II, I can't tell you.

Maybe it was the job on its own. I hate baby fuckers. Everybody does; even baby fuckers hate baby fuckers. Seems like if that's true, we oughtta just kill 'em. Unfortunately I don't get to kill this one; just beat the shit out of him. Which, I guess, will have to do.

I know a couple guys here. I got the contract an hour before my liftoff slot. 3, 2, 1, liftoff, boom and gone... I'd said no except I recognized the mark, somebody I'd seen once in the Bay for child molestation. I'd thought he was dead.

And I owed Ian a favor. I don't like being in debt.

I tracked the guy and, surprise, he was on the planet. In the city. He owed Ian money – a lot of fucking money – and Ian wanted his payday. Figured I would be the best persuasion tactic money could buy. I took the job, cancelled my liftoff; Ian even added the bay fee to my contract price.

Mighty sweet of him, wasn't it?

Now I'm rethinkin' this. Somethin' don't feel right. Not exactly with the job, but hell, right now everything feels off-fucking-center. Somethin' I feel in my gut.

Sun's gettin' closer. I hate the fucking sun.


	2. Finding the Mark

The boy was small, wiry, quick; a street kid, with quick eyes and bad sight. He ran like the devil, heart beating frantically. He turned into an alley – wrong alley. Dead ender. He whispered a curse and whirled back, then stopped short. He was fucked. This guy was on the outs, brain in space – crazy, in other words. He had chased the kid all the way here over something he had _sworn_ the kid had stolen. For once, the kid was innocent!

The guy had a manic grin on his face. The kid backed further into the alley as his captor advanced. "You going to nowhere, _pequeño_," the guy crooned. "You going to give me what is mine." His voice was soft, oily, wheedling; it made the kid shudder. It made him hesitate. The guy had him by the neck in a second. The kid opened his mouth to scream but was silenced by the man's thin lips, thick tongue invading his mouth. He struggled like hell and the man slapped him to the ground. He tried to scramble to his feet as soon as he could get breath but got flattened in the attempt. He felt hands on his ass, hot breath in his ear, his pants coming apart and could do nothing but open his mouth in shock.

"You going to give me what is mine, you pretty little bitch." The voice had turned from soft and wheedling to insistent and fierce, a promise of violence. "You are _mine_ now."

"Oh, Miguelito," came a deep singsong at the end of the alley, interrupting the gruesome little play. "Why you gotta be such a dirty faggot?" The kid felt his captor freeze. He turned his head toward the alley mouth and saw the shadow of something massive and man-shaped in the path of escape. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"You can wait you turn, _culo_."

"I'll take my turn _now_." The oppressive weight lifted from the kid's body. A loud _whump_ and frantic scrabbling sounded behind him. He scrambled to his feet and held up his pants with one hand, looking back at the darkness surrounding his captor and liberator. A street kid with good eyes – he could see that enormous man holding his captor up against the wall and how tiny his captor seemed in comparison. He stared in awe as his liberator turned to look at him. Molten silver caught him still with shock as thunder boomed at him from the man's throat.

"Go on, kid. Get outta here." The kid wanted to speak but could not do anything but retreat a few steps back. His liberator turned away, back to his prey.

"I was just kidding, _ese_!" Miguel squeaked. "I'd'a let you have him!"

"I don't want him, Miguel," the big man said. "Ian sent me. Said to tell you he wants his presents. And you better deliver them soon."

"I don't know no guy named Ian!" Miguel struggled and got slammed against the wall.

"Don't lie, Miguel," said the big man softly. "Ian say you owe him big time. He wouldn't call a favor on Big Evil for no small fish." In the dark, Miguel's eyes widened. His mouth shaped the words "Big Evil." "That's right, Miguelito. Called a favor on _me_ for your sorry ass. You must be one slippery fucking fish."

"Tell Ian I pay him soon, very soon, I swear a María –"

"Shut up, Miguel. You will pay Ian. Tomorrow. Tonight, you pay me."

"I didn' do nothin' to you, man, I swear!"

"The kid, Miguel, you sick little fuck. The _kid_." He squeezed Miguel's throat for emphasis with his words, leaving Miguel gasping for air. Then the savagery started, and Miguel began praying that he would survive the encounter. Not praying aloud – the hand around his throat prevented that. But his mind babbled as he realized that his captor was so skilled at delivering pain that he would be hurting for a long, long time.

Riddick knew exactly how skilled he was at his craft and that Miguel would indeed be hurting for a long, long time. And no one would ever know the difference, because Riddick made sure he wouldn't leave many marks on that greasy, deranged body.

Meanwhile, the kid bolted from the alleyway, running for all he was worth. He was convinced he had just been saved by the Devil. The thought would follow the kid for years to come.


	3. So Called Happy Family

"Found something you like, Nico?" she asked with a smile. The boy looked up at her, unusually solemn for a child. His ale-brown eyes were bright, considering her; a fall of black hair fell into them as he looked back at the carved birds on the shelf he crouched beside.

"I don't know," he replied. "Are they real?"

"Of course they're real."

"No, I mean... ¿los viven?" _Did they live?_

"No, m'ijo. Alguien los hizo." _Someone made them._

"Ah." He stood and brushed off his khakis, staying close at her side. "Then no, I'm finished." She ruffled his hair and he frowned. "Sangre, I'm hungry."

"Can you wait?" she asked, smoothing faded jeans over her thighs unconsciously. His eyebrows pinched together.

"I think so," he said after a moment.

"Then we'll eat soon, m'ijo. Te prometo." _I promise._

"Okay." They headed back for the front of the shop and found a young girl, Nico's kin by facial features.

"Melena, you done?" Sangre asked. The girl nodded. She was older than Nico, not quite into puberty, tall and willowy. Her hair was a dark auburn and straight, her eyes dark brown. She followed them gracefully out of the shop. "One more place to go and then we're finished for the day. Can you manage, mijos?" They chorused agreement and she headed down the block. Two men fell into place behind them soon after; she ignored them completely. They all looked odd enough: Sangre in jeans and wedge sandals; Nico in khakis and a T-shirt; Melena in a knee-length girl's flowered dress; and the two men behind them in dark slacks, blazers and military boots. Together, they made quite an entourage. The farther they walked, the darker and more sleazy the corridors became. The children stuck closer to Sangre, while the two men got more relaxed. Sangre herself was unfazed, even focused. She walked unhurriedly to a dimly-lit shopfront and smiled down on the children as if they were about to walk into a boutique. "¿Listos?" _Ready?_

"Sí," Melena answered with soft confidence . Nico was less enthused, but still agreed. They walked in together, minus the two goons, and scanned the grimy little shop of arsenals carefully. The man behind the counter had nasty teeth and a look in his eyes that said he presumed slumming. Sangre cocked her head to the side as she studied him.

"Do you have staffs? Lightweight knives? I need some."

"Lady, I _need_ a lot of things," he muttered, his eyes roving over her body. His tone was just barely short of openly indecent; it was rather obvious what he meant by his words. She strolled to the counter and eyed him coolly.

"Speak to me that way again, my friend, and I will cut your tongue out," she said quietly, with a gentle smile. He glared at her, opened his mouth to say something, then went white all of a sudden. She continued to smile. "Do we understand?"

"Yeah," he gulped. "Yeah, lady."

"Good. To business." The negotiations began, the children merely background. As children will, the pair loosened enough to wander. Melena studied the walls of blades, staffs and firearms, among other things.

Nico found a cat. A skinny, mangy, grayish excuse for a cat, and they made quick friends. They played a bit together. Then the cat jumped up and slipped out the front door, which had not properly shut. Looking around, Nico noticed that everyone's attention was elsewhere. What would happen to the cat?

In silence, Nico slipped out the door.


	4. Mixing Explosive Events

Riddick heard the whimpers from below his position crouched on the roof. As a professional courtesy to Ian, he had been keeping a tolerant eye on his mark. Miguel had made no effort to meet Ian man-to-man; instead, he had sent half his debt in, along with a note that was supposed to be promise for the rest. Ian decided, in a fit of amusement, to give Miguel a last chance, with deference to Riddick's preference of time. So Riddick gave him a few days, having been in a generous mood. Later he decided it had been for the anticipation of cat-and-mouse, and thought it would be a bad idea to make a decision like that again.

He slipped down into the alley mouth, seeing Miguel against the wall with a child to his chest, a hand against the kid's mouth. Riddick noticed it was one of the kids Miguel and the other guy had followed all week, the kids practically attached at the hip to that black-haired woman. His blood rushed in a fury, taking adrenaline through his system. Apparently Miguel was a slow learner. He strode forward, waiting for Miguel to notice. The kid saw him first, fixing him with a wide-eyed gaze that flashed gold in the light from the sidewalk. Miguel looked up then and squeaked unmanfully, facing Riddick as he began to back away.

"I pay him, man!"

"You paid half, shithead," Riddick replied. "And this ain't about Ian. This is another lesson. You're too slow on the uptake for me." Miguel backed into the wall and pressed back against it so hard it was as if he was trying to melt through it. When it did not work, he started looking for other escapes as the big man approached. When Riddick was almost on him, he flung Nico into Riddick and ducked out, making like hell for the sidewalk. Riddick caught the kid, looked down into large, pale-brown eyes and growled to himself at Miguel's debauchery. He set the kid down,turned and reached low to trip the fleeing man. When he went down, Riddick was on him. It was no contest – Riddick had him and planned on coming as close as possible to killing him.

Nico stood frozen where Riddick had gently set him down, watching this violence with unseeing eyes, shocked to the core at Miguel's violation and his sudden rescuer's vehemence. Somewhere inside him, something roared for him to throw Riddick aside and take his own bloody vengeance, but he was so small – how could he ever think he would be able to hurt Miguel, much less do something to the giant man that saved him?

A sudden call in a familiar voice broke his reverie. He called a reply plaintively, in a child's fright: "¡Sangre¡Está, en el callejón!"Here, in the alley! She appeared like a revenging angel, her blazing eyes searching for him and lighting on him with a mixture of fury, fear and relief. He cried out sharply and rushed past the two men scrabbling on the ground, into her arms and allowing himself to finally tremble.

"Nicolao, m'ijo, que—"

"¡Miguel!" he blurted, with no sense or reference forthcoming beyond that. Words became mud on his tongue, then concrete. He could not breathe. Sangre set him down and aside, where Melena's fine-boned hands took hold of his shoulders. He got dizzy and sagged against his sister, confused by the sudden speed of events. Their other hanger-on, standing behind Melena and Nico, looked on wide-eyed. He moved forward after a moment, as if to interrupt, until Melena reached out and snatched his blazer. He looked back at her and the coolness in her eyes shook him.

"No, Varón. Leave it. You will only be hurt," she said quietly and he listened, looking back in time to see the big man fly into the darkness of the alley, Sangre following him in. Miguel was left on the ground, unmoving. Nico shook against Melena, his lips moving without sound.

Riddick stood, shook himself and stared. The woman was coming down the alley. His first thought had been that Miguel had managed some kind of leverage to throw him off. But when he saw Miguel was not moving, the only answer left was the woman... Not a logical answer, by any means, but here she came. She was not hard to see; in fact, she blazed in his shine. He had never seen anyone look like that. Some animals, maybe. Never a person. Faint lines around her moved split-seconds before her body; he figured that out only after taking several blows. When he avoided her next attack, she was surprised, thought it barely showed on her face. He caught her fist and slung her into a wall. Oddly, it seemed to please her, by the grin that broke across her face. Despite its overt promise of violence, there was genuine pleasure in the expression as she pushed off the wall, got a hold of his head and took his legs out from under him.

God, she was fast. And too damn strong. It was inhuman, the way she moved. He had heard rumors of someone like this, a long time ago, long before the Hunter-Gratzner and Chillingsworth. When he was still in Company, cleaning out mining colonies. The troops told stories of superhuman soldiers, manufactured for powerhousing. Manufactured for killing. Maybe the stories had been true. Her voice brought him back to the ass-kicking present.

"You should not have done this," she said quietly, as if she were having a regular conversation. "This thing. This attack." It struck him suddenly that she thought he was the root of the problem, not Miguel, and he laughed aloud. She gave him a quizzical look, cocking her head like a cat. "Do you think it's funny? Attacking the boy like you did? Putting him in that creature's debt as you have?" Her Common words were stiff and formal to his ears, but very quickly she gave him something else to worry about when she grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. He closed his hand around her wrist and tugged, just to try her out, but she was solid. He tightened his grip on her bones and they began a silent tug-of-war of domination. The look in her eyes was pitying... her eyes. They had changed. He looked around her face, looking for a sign of weakness, and was shocked to see elongated canines in her mouth.

The woman had fangs. Honest-to-God fangs.

What the hell kinda B-movie shit was this, anyway?

"¡Sangre, no le matas por favor!" cried the boy from the end of the alley. Sangre, don't kill him, please! "He saved me! It was Miguel–" He hushed suddenly, whether out of fear or else uncertain, only to start up again. "–era Miguel que me lastimó!" It was Miguel that hurt me! Sangría looked at Riddick a moment longer before easing her grip on his throat.

"I see," she said in that same hushed voice. "My apologies; I misunderstood. The children, you see, are... well, that is unimportant. So long as I do not have to kill you over them, yes?" She smiled brightly, looking disturbingly young, and revealing those fangs without shame. "I thank you for doing what you did."

Riddick was caught a little off-guard by the sudden change in demeanor. First she wanted to kill him, now she wanted to make nice? He still wanted to throw her a beatin', but thought attacking on the surprise angle would be a bad idea. Sometimes you just had to know when to back down so you could fight again later. "He owes a debt," he rumbled, jerking his head at Miguel. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she twisted just enough to look at the downed man. "I'm here to make sure he pays it."

"I see." She nodded, mostly as if confirming something to herself. "I will see it is paid." She turned back to him, arms folded beneath her breasts and studied him. "I never thought to meet you," she murmured abruptly. "They said you died." Her eyes locked onto his, piercing.

"Who are you?"

"I am Sangre de la Cruz."

"Wraith," he said softly. She ducked her head.

"You have heard of me."

"Once upon a time. You dropped off the face of the earth. Never got caught."

"When you are where I am, Riddick... you simply get into different traps." She took a few steps back, bowing to him at the waist. "I am sorry for Miguel's lateness. I will see that all is settled very soon. My thanks." He made no response as she picked Miguel up by the collar. "And you... you do not exist, no?" The last was said softly, with just a hint of threat. It irked him, to have to require her saving grace.

"No," he replied, and slipped back into the darkness from whence he had come.


	5. All Debts Paid

I don't sit with my back to a door. It just ain't a smart thing to do. Ian stayed on my left; he always does. I'm never sure if it's out of mistrust – Ian's only a right-handed man – or respect. Doesn't much matter, since I can use either one.

Tonight's Miguel's last chance to make good on his deal with Ian. Pay up and get out clean. He's got 'til midnight before he's got to say night-night – for a long time. At least he wouldn't miss the money; can't take it with you, like they say. Ian's playing it easy, watching his club around the three boys he set up when I got here. Not sure if he wants them here to keep people out or keep us in. Either way, they make me fucking itchy, lettin' everybody and their damn brother know somethin's goin' down over here. It'd be easier if they weren't here and we were just another couple guys... but Ian don't do like that. His club, his rules. Whatever. He picks up his beer and looks at me, so I wait for him to bring it up. I can wait. He can't.

"Tonight?" Ian's got a raspy voice. It used to bother me, before I got to be a big boy and stopped giving a shit about the way voices sound and started listening to what voices say. The voice changed with the left side of his face, the night he got sliced. Now he's got a scar from hairline to Adam's apple and an eye with a caste over it. I nod a little and sip my vodka. He nods back, looking in his beer like it's got answers. Nothing else came up 'cause nothing else needed to. Ian doesn't ask and I don't tell. He leans up to slide an envelope across the table. I lean forward to take my payment and get caught. I see her by that animal sight and scent.

Wraith walks up to the table, easy as you please. Ian's boys turn slow and stare, like she'd just appeared there instead of blowing right past 'em. She smiles at me and Ian, trying for something resembling disarming. I glance around for weapons under the jacket and pants. I don't see any off-hand and it just makes me jumpy. I know she's got 'em and hid 'em good. Hell, if she's who she says, she doesn't _need_ any damn weapons. Ian's lovestruck, I can tell. He ain't got a damn clue who she is or what her rep is. This woman is a bigger legend than me, if only 'cause the legend's been around a little longer. Something about that fact nags me all of a sudden but I push it back. I got other things to worry about.

She pulls a thick manila envelope, similar to the one holding my pay, out from behind her. Must've had it tucked in her waistband; what else could be back there? Ian's boys jump, going for guns, but a hand from their man holds 'em. She lays the packet on the table and stands, waiting. I take a look and see a dark spot on the envelope. She smells pleased, satisfied and dangerous with it. Heat radiates off her despite the barrier of her clothes. "I believe a man owes you money," she purrs. There's another smell there that's almost too faint to find, but too familiar to ignore: blood. I wonder where Miguel is, now that's she's showed up to pay his debts. The possibilities ain't real shiny for him. "His name is Miguel. Am I correct?" Ian nods.

"That's right, sweet thing," he says with a grin. The tone of his voice makes my insides stiffen. How can he be so fucking stupid, talking to her this way? She could rip his head off, no question; she only sweetens her smile.

"Good. This should cover his debt." She waves lazily at the packet on the table. "All of it." Ian only barely acknowledges it, keeping his eyes on her.

"Why don't you sit down and have a drink?" Oh fuck. Wraith shakes her head slightly.

"No; thank you, though." She turns her eyes to me. I sit coiled, waiting. Her smile grows wider and I see those fangs, feel the heat coming off her. What the hell is she? Maybe she's an alien. They do exist. I've seen harmless ones, like the ones on Tripile that look like three-legged teddy bears; and some that aren't so harmless, like those things on T2. She falls in the second category if she is one. "I owe you thanks for what you did," she tells me, cocking her head to the side. I disregard it. I don't want her indebted to me or vice versa.

"Nothin' for it," I say. She sidles up closer to me.

"If not for you, then Nico would have been... damaged." She eyeballs me for a minute. "That would be unacceptable. But he is not damaged and Miguel has paid _all_ his debts." That glint in her eye comes back, echoing the smile on her face. I know that expression. I've felt it on my face. She's got him sideways somewhere, well and truly fucked.

More power to her.

"You're welcome," I reply grudgingly. I'm itchy. Need to get out of here, away from here. She leans forward on me; by now, she's way the fuck in my personal space. Ian has the brains to stay back in his chair, like he isn't paying attention.

"You do not like me, I think." Breathing on my face. I wanna choke her down until her eyes roll back in her head. She sniffs my cheek and my primal side responds with an internal growl.

"Lay off, Wraith," I growl softly. She laughs and gets out of my space. The amusement stays on her face.

"It is rather disappointing that we will not see each other again," she said softly. "I could have so much fun." The thought makes me stiffen. I really want the fuck out of here. I don't know what the hell this woman is, but she ain't kosher. Wraith wiggles her fingers at us. "Good evening, gentlemen." And then she's gone.

I take my payday after a few moments and nod to Ian. "Ian." He nods his goodbye absently and I take my leave out the back, heading for the hangar bays with some serious intention.

I want the fuck _off_ this rock.


	6. A Quiet Escape

Despite the powerful urge to flee into the dubious safety of the stars, Riddick held his ground. He left Ian's club to stock up on food, clothes, fuel and cargo for the long haul. He took a last look around the port shops while his ship was refueled and trip-checked. He checked the markets, evaluated demand trends with the experience of a mild trader and bought safe-bet cargo stores accordingly. He made sure to stay away from the ship proper, though he came back now and then to check on it. The ship was not large but big enough for a three-man bridge and, thus, three bunk quarters, including the captain's; a small mess; a single head; and the cargo bay, which took up a third of the ship, and deep hold. Though the mid-size cargo freighter was shabby-looking on the outside, inside she was clean and squared away, revealing the adjusted remnants of a military man, and she ran clean and tight. Everything was squared away and cleared from central space. One man could pilot her, given enough experience, thanks to the AI drive. She was not supposed to equip weapons, but that did not mean she was defenseless. Riddick had supplied her with a few nasty little presents when they had started their relationship. He and his comfy little freighter had an understanding of mutual care: he did not get her shot down and she did not break down.

Riddick returned an hour before his reserved liftoff slot to put away his purchases. When all his cargo was squared away, Riddick closed up shop, watching the hangar crowd until the hatch locked tight against the hull. He made his way to the bridge, where he keyed in to Control.

"Break, Control, this is K-011-2554-414, Allopath, requesting clearance for a long lane."

"Hold tight, Allopath. Clearance check online," the static of Control replied. Riddick waited patiently while Control ran their customary pre-flight scan. Nothing to worry about; all his cargo was legit, except for him, and he still qualified as far as Control was concerned – thanks to the help of a good set of false records. The scan paused on his screen at eight-two percent and he frowned down at it, wondering why it had stopped. There was no reason for it to stop. Suddenly the scan meter jumped forward and completed, as if in fear of facing his irritation. He chalked it up to a glitch in the computer system. Such things happened. "Allopath, all clear. You are a go in twelve, D-slot-eight."

"Affirm, Control," he replied, entering the settings. "Thanks for the fast check out."

"Only yourself to thank, Allopath. Take it easy on the flight path."

"Well-noted." Control clicked out and his screen revealed his twelve-minute countdown. He leaned back in his chair and listened to the mechanical blur of his ship around him. It was good to be in charge again.

Something tickled at his senses, just on the very edges. He straightened and sniffed the air, waiting for whatever might come... but nothing emerged from the darkness of the cockpit. He settled after a few minutes and concentrated on the star lane ahead, only a ship away. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, letting his thoughts ebb and flow while he zoned himself into the flight path ahead. He had never been much of a pilot beyond being able to fly; not like the birdmen he had trained with, that saw mysticism and religion in the flight patterns and the starlight. To Riddick, it was just open space. Pretty, yes, but still just open fucking space and the hope of staying free. He drifted along that track for a little while longer, before the notifying alarm beeped three times and retrieved him from his space reveriè. He adjusted all the controls and watched the screens.

"Allopath, you are go in thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..." Control's distant voice droned on in the background of the cockpit, while Riddick concentrated on the last minute details of liftoff. The AI was silently working with him, as usual, and Riddick silently praised the system for its function. "Six, five, four..." He leaned back in the pilot's chair as the ship slid forward into the star paths. "Two, one. Allopath, safe journey." Riddick did not bother to respond as his lovely Allopath hesitated in space a moment before it jerked him into nothingness.

The jump took what felt like eternity, but was only a few minutes. He gritted his teeth against the feeling in the pit of his stomach, like a log chain was attached at his navel and steadily hauling him into the abyss. When the ship settled again from the jump, Riddick stared out into space for some seconds before he leaned back in his captain's chair and took a deep breath of release. All things held constant, at that moment, he was satisfied to still be a free convict.


	7. Unwelcome Surprise!

He woke in his bunk, completely and suddenly aware that all was not as it should be on his ship. He rose from his sleeping space and began to prowl the corridors in boxer-briefs and bare feet, silently stalking the source of the nagging feelings in the small of his back. He had been in space three days and had ignored his soft-spoken discomfort throughout.

He should have checked when the computer glitch had come up on the pre-flight scan. He should have checked the cargo twice. He should have listened to himself.

Riddick started in the cockpit. Nothing, no one there. He sniffed the air, searching for a scent, a trace, a lead. Nothing. "Al," he rumbled; "do you comply?"

"Aye, captain," replied the cold female voice that the ship's AI used. "I comply and copy. What are your orders?"

"Lock the bridge on my exit. Do not allow entrance to anything but me. Enter on voice command. Record."

"Recording after three, two, one."

"Richard B. Riddick," he drawled slowly. There was a small silence, broken in seconds by Al's voice.

"Enter voice command confirmed." It played his voice back to him. "Bridge will be locked on exit, sir. What are your orders?" Riddick picked up a small black tab with a sticky back from the pilot's slot.

"Speaker system negative. Subvocal K2-84 operable. Test." He stuck the tab to his left earlobe.

"Testing three, two, one. Testing. Allopath, subvocal K2-84 operable. Confirm, sir?" He heard her quite clearly, but it was as if he heard it less as sound and more of a vibration, a feeling, in his bones. He replied almost silently, moving his lips while little less than a whisper escaped his lungs.

"Confirmed, Al. Run a scan. Find anything unusual and tell me where."

"Aye, sir. Scan in progress." Riddick slipped out the bridge and heard the soft, greased hiss of the bridge doors closing, then locking into place behind him. "Bridge secured."

"Good work, Al," he murmured. The lights were all but off, of course, so Riddick had no need for his goggles. He stalked the corridors, the mess and the galley, the spare bunk, the head and came up empty in all of them. The bay and the holds were all that was left to search. Riddick was oscillating between enraged and engaged; his instinct was this hunt, this search for prey, but his enmity of capture spiked his indignation. Someone was on his ship, in _his_ space, and it put killing back in his mind.

"Scan complete. Unauthorized occupation in cargo bay, quadrant II. Does not match available files. Approximate weight unknown; approximate height unknown. Advise extreme caution."

_How big is this thing?_ he wondered to himself, not realizing he had spoken nearly aloud until Al answered his question.

"Approximate size unknown. Relative to average crate size. What are your orders?" Riddick grimaced. "Average crate size" could be a wide range of sizes.

"Notify of forward movement or retreat."

"Aye, sir." He sniffed the air quietly and caught the scent of blood. Simple and unadulterated blood, untinged by fear or pain. Not exactly fresh, a hint of... new plastic? And sweat, dirt, grime -- flesh. He followed his nose until the scent was overwhelming and he knew the two were within reach. He wondered what the hell he was about to run into and figured it was time to find out. He shot a hand down into the darkness and ran into yielding flesh. Something below his hand shrieked. He closed his hand over whatever he had caught and jerked it up to where he could see his prize. He was not expecting a wide pair of golden-amber eyes in a young boy's face when he brought his prey eye-level. They stared at each other a long moment and it was a trial to guess who was more surprised.

Of course, when the boy's sister leaped over the crate they had been hiding under, aiming for Riddick's head, the big man probably won the trial. She latched onto his upper body, clawing at his face and scalp as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to move out of her path. He heard her teeth clicking together close to his ear and lurched away in a knee-jerk reaction to save his skin.

Riddick grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and wrenched her away from his face. He did not come away unscathed, either; blood trickled from where she had clawed his face and tried to bite him. Melena struggled in his grip while he spared a glance for the boy. When the girl had attacked, he had dropped Nico. The boy sat on the crate wide-eyed, staring at the pair of them. He brought his attention back to the squirming girl in his grip and pulled her closer to his face. She tried to bite his nose and he snarled, "Stop." The tone unmistakably said he was not kidding. Melena sagged suddenly, mutinously, and he set her down by her brother. She crouched between them, obviously trying to protect Nico. They were dirty and red-eyed; he assumed they had been hiding under the bay floor since before take-off and sleeping very little in their hidey-hole. The girl's hair was mussed and unkempt, leaving her feral-looking, while the boy just looked submissive.

Kids. Goddamn _kids_ on his ship. And _hers_, no less.

_What a clusterfuck._ That was about the only thought that would accurately sum up his situation. He glared down on the two kids, clutching his shiv tightly with one hand, the only real sign of his irritation.

"The fuck are you two doing on here?" he growled. They responded with silence. Nico's lip quivered. Riddick leaned in closer and Melena shrank back. If she was a cat, she would have bristled at his invasion of her space. He knew how far he could push kittens into a corner, however, and only came just close enough. "Answer me."

"She sent us away!" Nico blurted. His sister whirled on him with a hiss but Nico continued, as if a dam had broken. "She tucked us up, said we'd be safer here than with her–"

"Callete, Nicolao!" she spat. _Shut UP!_ The boy cowered under her fierce gaze until she turned it back on Riddick. A spark of defiance was lit behind her eyes.

"What does it matter?" she said softly. "We're here now." The big man had been pondering that himself. Delphi was the only body in the system one could safely land on, and despite the hyperjump once out of the planet's orbit, Riddick had still not crossed the systemary line. He might have been three days into his journey, but he was at least seven out from Delphi II now, because of that same jump. That left keeping them until he landed on Alba in two and a half weeks... or throwing them out of the airlock. The airlock was looking pretty shiny at the moment. Melena seemed to know what he was thinking, drawing herself up to a regal height – at least, regal as you could get for an eleven-year-old girl. "If you jet us, Sangre will _know_. And she would not be happy, either."

He snorted. "Don't lie to save your ass, little girl." She stiffened, affronted. _I don't kill kids,_ he thought, sourly, and kept the thought to himself. He continued in a soft tone that was more menacing than a yell. "You stay 'til I drop ship. You stay out of the way an' you listen to me. You dick with me, I'll throw you to the stars faster than you can breathe. We clear?"

"Yes," Melena said out loud, Nico nodding his agreement beside her.

"Good. Now get fresh. You ain't smellin' up my ship while you're aboard." He stepped to the side and let Melena slide down and catch her brother. He led them through the main body of the ship and showed them where the spare bunk and the head were. "I'll give you clean stuff to wear when you get out. Don't put that stinkin' mess back on, understand?" Melena nodded sullenly and disappeared with her brother into the head. Riddick headed back to his room, thinking fast as he came up with ideas for what to do with his new cargo. "Al, changing security parameters. Primary user is Richard B. Riddick. Lockdown engaged. Require voice authorization for all internal commands. Additional password authentication for bridge commands. Notify captain of all forward movement in ship, unauthorized access attempts into secure areas. Affirm."

"Copy that, Captain. New security parameters confirmed. What are your orders?"

"Continue course to Alba. Run inventory of all cargo on board, sort category." Al complied, running through all the cargo he had amassed. When she mentioned "clothes," he stopped her. "Category within 'clothes'." She ran through it quickly as he headed for the cargo bay. He sorted through boxes until he found the clothes he was looking for. They were a size bigger than the kids and long-sleeved, made for teenagers in a different culture, but the ship was cool and it was all he had. He dropped the new clothes at the head door and went to the bridge to sit back and think about the situation that had dropped into his lap.

The "how" of it never crossed his mind; it was unimportant, being as the kids were already aboard and they were already way off-planet. It was the "why" that was driving him crazy. Why him and his ship? She knew who he was, of course, which made even less sense. Why drop a couple of kids off with a convicted mass murderer on the lam? Even if, or maybe especially because, you yourself were under the same social stigma? What did she expect him to do with a couple of kids?

_"She tucked us up, said we'd be safer here than with her–"_ It's what Nico had said. Wraith was obviously in some kind of clusterfuck, worse than the one he was in. Otherwise, she likely would never have pawned them off on him. _Like I did with Jack on the holy man..._ He shook those thoughts from his head. That situation was totally different; Jack was better off, with access to schools and clothes and stationary with somebody that could take care of her. The situation here was backwards – kids that, by the looks of them, had always had everything they might have needed, being passed off on a man with nothing to offer. It made no sense, even if she was counting on some sense of honor or need for company or whatever-the-fuck she was thinking.

Maybe it was a vampire thing. Now _there_ was a fucked up thought.

"Captain, unauthorized access attempted on the bridge. Allow or deny?"

"Allow," he rumbled quietly, turning so his side was facing them. It was dark in the cockpit; dramatic and mysterious, with the starmaps laid out on charts and the starfields glowing softly through the window glass. The children came in abreast of each other, both wet-haired and cleaner for it, dressed in Riddick's borrowed clothes. He had given them both light-colored clothing, so as to see them better. They did not show well by themselves in Riddick's vision, but the clothes helped. He was headed for a port with a strong Chrislam influence and as such they were dressed in clothes appropriate for it: Melena in a long, hooded robe that dragged the floor and covered the dress and slippers he had also given her, and Nico in very baggy pants, tunic and a similar, open-front robe of his own that dragged far worse than Melena's. She seemed affronted by her clothes, picking at them distastefully.

"They're too big," she said. He shrugged.

"All you get. Suck it up."

"We trip over them."

"Walk more carefully." He turned full-front to them both, studying them. Nico, for once, did not shrink away from him but studied him carefully, like a bird studies a faraway cat. Melena glared, but there was something unsure in the way she would not look at him squarely. "Are you the same?"

"Of course we are," Melena snapped. "He's my brother." As soon as she was quiet, Nico piped up quietly.

"Yes," he replied. "We are vampires." And he grinned, like a dog grins, to reveal small, slightly-pointed canines. Melena twitched at seeing her brother show them off. Riddick now had no more delusions to maintain, just a whole hell of a lot of questions.

And no one, really, to ask.


	8. Learning One's Place

Riddick and the two children had settled into something of a pattern by the end of the trip's fifth day. Riddick still moved about the ship like he was on his own: maintaining the working parts of Allopath, eating, exercising, sleeping, charting and occasionally checking the news feeds. He hardly saw Melena. She was doing her best to keep herself to the bare minimum of his attention, only showing herself long enough to be seen before disappearing again. The big convict allowed it; what did it matter, when all he had to do to monitor her every move was ask Al? Nico, on the other hand, watched Riddick, openly curious. He allowed it as well, because his only other choice was to jet the kid. The boy followed him everywhere, reminding him uncomfortably of Jack in her serious case of hero worship. The gym was the worst place; Nico watched his every move, obviously enthralled by the big man. The afternoon of the fifth day was when things started to change again. Riddick practiced in the dark, an environment he was well-accustomed to thanks to back alleys and open Slam cellblocks. During one of Riddick's pauses, Nico broke the silence. "You move like one of _us_." Riddick left the gym and locked the kid out of every room he entered after that encounter.

A few days later, Riddick did not bother to lock the door. The comment had bothered him, but he could not have said why. Nico came in, predictably. Unpredictably, he sat silent in an unobtrusive corner and watched Riddick pound the bag methodically. The gym was dark as pitch, as usual. Nico never moved, sitting in a corner with his feet tucked under him. Riddick doggedly ignored the little boy for nearly two full hours, until he passed the boy on his way to the door. He looked up at Riddick with luminous gold-brown eyes, shining even in the near-full dark. Riddick only stared stoically back until the boy's determination to remain silent waned.

"You fight like one of our _Ngathi_," the boy murmured. "Our honored fighters. The Lady chooses them." Riddick eyed him. "They are protectors. Of the race." He blinked slowly. "The Lady chose Sangre. There are not many female _Ngathi_. The Council..." The boy's face hardened somewhat and he shut down for a moment. His reanimation was just as abrupt. "Teach me to fight."

"No." The boy's fists clenched in the first sign of anger Riddick had seen out of him.

"Why?" he said. "You will drop us off on a strange planet without the means to defend ourselves?"

"Not my problem." Nico pressed his fists into his eyes, shaking visibly.

"You will leave us," the boy mumbled. "Sangre left us. The Council moved us, no questions. Nothing but pieces on a _board_." Nico looked at Riddick squarely, eyes literally glowing. Riddick had seen some X-factor shit on some alien trips, but never something like this. The beast in him snarled in challenge. The waves around Nico grew and grew, shaping themselves into a barely-defined shape. "Why will you not teach me?"

"Because, kid," he replied. Because he did not want to, did not have to. "Now settle down." The boy glared obstinately.

"You should have thrown us out of the lock." Riddick leaned into the boy's space, a faint rumble issuing from his chest.

"It ain't too late for that, boy." Nico's eyes widened briefly before he fled. Quick as a cat. Riddick turned back toward the bag. He felt another presence near him and ignored the sister. It was what she had wanted him to do every since he had found them. But this time she stepped forward, into open territory.

"He wants to be you. Powerful," she murmured. "Do you know what you are?" Riddick let himself drift, feeling where she moved.

God, he _hated_ kids.

"The females of our kind are not as strong as grown males," she continued, apparently heedless of whether he seemed to care or not. "But we are better concealed. Nico wants to be you: the man that runs against the command line and causes glitches in the system." She was within his range, now, so he angled his head to look at her. Melena was small, almost fragile-looking, but he knew better. She stood as if her body had no bones, her head cocked to the side, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. Riddick waited, coiled for the attack. The scent of blood drifted toward him, the same scent as was in the cargo bay when he had first found them. Was she wounded?

"You gonna fight for him, lil' one?" he asked lightly. She did not take the bait.

"It is my duty." The seriousness of her tone caught him off-guard. There was no sign of a child's stubbornness or masking innocence in her voice. He decided against baiting her again.

"Duty," he said quietly. Waited.

"Yes," she replied. "My duty, now. To protect Nico."

"She told you it was gonna be like this?"

"Sangre told me I must protect Nico. She could no longer do so, so now I must. When he is older, he will protect me. It is the way things are." Riddick looked down at this girl who was so willow-thin, fragile-looking, so waif-like that she appeared fawn to his wolf. The scent of blood invading his sense of smell and the way she faced up to him told otherwise, that she was just as much wolf as he.

"How you gonna protect the both of you? You saw what happens to him. It can happen to you too. You might fight some of 'em off. Not all of 'em."

"It does not matter. It is all we can do. Sangre has abandoned us. _You_ will dump us at the next stop. The question is not important." Her tone accused him more than it accused Sangre and it irked him. How did she come up with making him more at fault than the woman that dumped the two of them in the first place?

She had moved closer to him, now within a few feet of him. He could see her lips slightly parted, the shadow of blood on her teeth. _Vampire_, his mind whispered. _Blood-drinker. Kin to you, kin like pack_. He shoved his voices away, crouching slowly until they were eye-to-eye. To her credit, she never flinched away, even when he leaned a little closer to sniff her.

"Good thing you like blood," he said quietly, his eyes glinting. "But don't you ever take from me. It'll be the last thing you do. Clear?" She nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off him. Even though she watched him, however, he reached out and slapped her across the jaw, hard, and she never saw it coming. She turned back to him, eyes wide with pain and barely-checked fury, blood of her own now trickling down the corner of her mouth. "Now you start to learn." And the lessons began.


	9. Hard Lessons

Riddick sat in the bridge, watching an archive of the children in their bunk. The boy was learning but Melena was a poor teacher. Despite her malice, hands-on was not her thing. She would do better with weapons – weapons Riddick would never put in her hands. Nico, on the other hand, would be all right with nothing but himself. If only he was not so small.

He leaned back in his chair, deliberately ignoring the screen. Soon they would be out of his space, no longer his problem. It would not matter whether they could fight off his ship. All that would matter would be the next port and a clean, quiet run.

Only a few more days. A few more days and no kids, new cargo, another run. He swapped screens, looking through Alta's shipping records. He needed a job as soon as he docked – no time to fuck around. There was nothing actively tracking him, but he was not stupid enough to think he was free and clear. He expected a company of mercs, at least. He did not know what the woman was capable of now, but he knew what she had been storied about. Sangre de la Cruz – Wraith. The uncatchable woman killer. Quicker than smoke, quieter than space, deadly as a knife in the heart. And he had her kids on his ship. At least she would not be able to get ahead of him and be waiting at port. Probably not, anyway.

He switched the screen to news feeds, checking slowly and methodically. Not only did it keep him up to date, it kept him well-aware of anything headed his way. Laws worked by rules, eating their own tails, making them and the society that followed them easy to predict. Nothing unusual was on the feeds, fortunately, and Riddick was suddenly hungry. He checked his starpath and closed the bridge. "Al," he murmured.

"Aye, sir. What are your orders?"

"Engage autopilot and maintain course. Confirm."

"Flight path confirmed, auto engaged. What are your orders?" He left the bridge, talking as he went.

"Lock the bridge to unauthorized entry. Confirm."

"Confirmed, sir. What are your orders?"

"Stand by, Al."

"Aye, sir." She went silent, leaving Riddick to himself as he headed to the galley. Striding through the open doorway, he ran headlong into the heady bouquet of blood tinged with plastic and a stringent afterthought of overcleanliness. He made his way more cautiously, step by step into the dimmed room, only to come upon the two juveniles and nothing else. He changed his posture, not relaxed but no longer so tensed, looking for the source. Melena was closer to him and when she turned, he saw the blood on her lips. His first thought was that Nico had made some serious contact during sparring, but an insistent reminder of vampires' existence barraged through his brain, steamrolling all others. He eyed them both, the two looking as if they had been caught red-handed at doing something forbidden.

"So." The word was merely filler, and they all knew it. Riddick made his way to the off-side of the table and sat down carefully. Although he had known they were something else, some X-factor, only the primitive part of his brain registered it. The logical bits had just now been slapped silly with the reality. "Brought it with you?"

"Yes," Melena answered lowly, for once meek and almost subservient.

"Good. Don't want you nixing bits of my stock," he replied. He studied them, openly curious. "That how you live? Off hospital packets?"

"Now, it's the way we have to," Nico said plainly. "Anyone caught hunting is subject to execution."

"Hunting?"

"Hunting. For people." Something about that simple statement struck Riddick as funny, and he leaned back to bark out a laugh. When he was done, he came back to the table, amusement still glinting in the mercury depths.

"Hunting people. I guess that's how it's supposed to work," he mused, almost to himself. "Guess we're not that different."

"No," Melena whispered, not looking at him. Nico looked from his sister to his captain, blatantly wanting to ask. Riddick fixed him under his gaze and waited.

"So, if we're not that different, why do you hate us so much?" Melena hissed at him like a cat, but Riddick never flinched at the question.

"You're in the way," he rumbled. "Causing me shit I don't need to deal with."

"We didn't try to."

"Doesn't matter. Still hooked on my six. You make life harder for me. Usually nix shit for that, but I can't ghost you. Make for more trouble. So I just gotta wait." He paused, feeling unusually generous. "And I don't like kids."

"Why? Too much responsibility?" Melena asked, her tone laced with disdain and something like hurt. Riddick's nod did not seem to help her attitude.

"Too much responsibility. Too much to take care of. Not my problem," he said. _Too much of a liability_, he added in his head, but left that part out of the open air. He stood up and went to the processor and keyed in his entries. He waited for his dinner and sat back at the table to eat. The kids watched him off-and-on, but did not seem particularly interested in his food. Riddick watched them, noticing the flush in their skin and the vigor of their movements. He tucked away his mental notes for later use, should he ever again need to know what to expect in dealing with vampires.

"Why did she leave us with you?" Nico asked while fiddling with a string wrapped around Melena's fingers in a children's game. Riddick looked up and eyed the boy.

"Couldn't tell you, kid," he replied slowly. It was a question he had asked himself a lot since he had left Delphi's port. _One run-in with me, and she leaves me her fucking kids? Don't make sense. _"I couldn't think of one reason why she'd leave you with me."

"We are not hers," Melena said quietly. "Maybe that's why." He turned his gaze on her and she played the string game with Nico a little more before she appeared to notice. "We were her wards. Not her children."

"Why the fuck was she watching you if you weren't hers to begin with?"

"We were going to be Dom Mata's next guards. She was supposed to be training us. The next generation." He leaned back and settled his hands flat on the table. The more he learned, the less that made sense. Finally, he shook his head of it and got up to throw away the rest of his food. His appetite was gone.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Riddick was resting on his bunk when the door hissed open. He looked over at Nico standing in the door way. The two stared at each other a moment. "What, kid?"

"Melena's been teaching me," he said. There was no sign of his characteristic tremor or stutter.

"I know."

"Why won't you teach me?" the boy asked quietly.

"She's teaching you. Difference does it make who's doing it?"

"She doesn't understand it." Nico sat down against the bulkhead just inside the doorway, pulling his knees up to his chest. "It's not natural for her. She's a female."

"So's Wraith," Riddick replied, gone back to his book.

"Sangre's different," Nico replied with disdain. "She's not like the rest. There hasn't been a female like Sangre in spans. Melena's not like Sangre; she's not good at using her fists. It's usually males. Like you. Sangre is special. She will _do_ something." His voice had taken on a wistful quality speaking of her.

"Hadn't you heard, kid? She's killed a fuckton of people. That counts as something."

"Not to us. Only to you. She will _do_ something for us, our people." Riddick's only response was to grunt. "Riddick." When he got not answer, he stood up next to the big man's mattress. "Riddick."

"What, kid?"

"Teach me."

"Already told you. No." There was a moment of silence.

"Fine." The hiss of the door heralded the boy's departure. Before leaving, however, Nico produced a wrench from under his robe and threw it at Riddick's head before dashing as fast as he could out of the bunk. Riddick was not slow in following.

The ship was small, and Nico fast, but he barely managed to slip into the gym before Riddick, a feat in itself. Melena was practicing lazily on the bag, but when Nico and then Riddick burst into the room, she jumped. Riddick was bleeding, just a little, from his forehead. Nico was smiling crazily, like he had done something to be proud of. Looking from Riddick to Nico, Melena looked like she hardly thought the big man's expression was something her little brother should be proud of.

Riddick advanced on the boy, who stood ready – almost like he knew what he was getting into and looking nothing like the same boy Riddick had snatched out of a pedophile's arms not too long ago. He reached out with one long arm and went to strike. Nico dodged out of the way, into Riddick's open-handed slap from the other side. It sent the boy sprawling and his sister into a rage. She leapt at Riddick, only herself as a weapon. Even given her limited experience and size, she was, nonetheless, a vampire. She came nearly her own height off the floor, heading for her brother's attacker. She landed on his back, sinking her only weapons – nails and teeth – into Riddick's shoulders, both for purchase and for pain. Riddick snarled and reached back to grab her wrist and fling her bodily over his shoulder. She landed a few feet away from Nico, though with a little more style – at least she landed on her feet. Nico charged Riddick, lips curled in a snarl, holding a two-pound weight in one hand. Riddick grabbed the boy by the shoulder and spun him around as he rotated the joint. Nico stifled a cry and let go the weight. It went flying toward Melena, slamming into her hip as she tried to dodge. She tripped and fell into a bench, smashing her cheek. Meanwhile, Riddick picked up Nico by the shoulder and slammed him hard into the floor, holding him there with one massive hand as he knelt over the boy's head.

"You know I could kill you without tryin', kid," he whispered softly near the boy's ear. His eyes flicked to Melena, who was pushing herself up slowly. "Both of you. Being _her _kids got nothin' to do with it. It's that I don't kill brats. But I make exceptions. You challenge me again, I'll make sure you regret the last seconds of your life. 'Specially the part where you cause me to jet you out the airlock. Got it?" Nico wheezed a yes in response. "Now, let's get something else clear. _I_ am the motherfucking alpha on this boat, you get me? Not you, not her. _Me_." He shoved the shoulder a little for emphasis, then let go and rose to tower over the boy. He looked over and saw Melena struggling to rise and go to Nico, who was still on the floor. He jerked his head out the door, eyes trained on her. "Take your fucking kin an' get out. Put your clothes in the fresher an' stay in your goddamn bunk." He watched them gather themselves, slowly, and inch their way out the door. Melena kept her eyes on the floor, but Nico watched Riddick the whole way out. When the door hissed shut behind them, Riddick dropped his head. "Al."

"Aye, captain. What are your orders?"

"Track excess occupants. When excess occupants enter Bunkroom 3, engage lockdown. Do not disengage lockdown without my orders. Confirm."

"Orders confirmed, captain. Notice of lockdown required?"

"Affirmative, Al. Standby." He waited until she gave him notice that the kids were locked safely in their bunk before he let go his rage with a roar.

- - - - - - - - - - -

"How could this happen?" he murmured to himself, staring into the top of his desk. He looked up at the woman standing at attention on the other side, at the slowly purpling bruise on her temple barely hidden by her hair. He had caused it and was well within his rights to cause it after what she had done. Letting the children out of her sight, nowhere to be found! He stood and paced irritably behind his desk, eyes trained again on the floor. He had to get them back, somehow. Without mentioning the thought of what her vindictive, heathen Council would do to him for losing charges granted to him, he could not bear the thought of someone damaging the children, touching his property without permission. The thought caused his blood pressure to spike. His face purpled and he looked up at her again. She stood there calmly, face devoid of expression, awaiting his commands.

_His_ commands. A creature of her power, granted to him out of the ether by an organization he had never known, bound by some unknown force to carry out his wishes whatever they were. She was utterly silent, had never been tracked and could perform any task he chose. He had yet to find any task she could do, and he had tested _every _possibility. Wraith was the property of Lorenzo Mata, utterly and completely.

The thought lifted his spirits a little. He smoothed his suitfront carefully, reaching up to run a hand over his carefully coiffed salt-and-pepper hair. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he squared his shoulders and turned to Wraith, black eyes glittering in the cruel light of his smile. "What did you do with them, Wraith?" he asked gently. "Letting them out of your sight... children are apt to play, after all. And Nicolao had already proven his escape from you once. Did they run away from you?"

"No," she replied through gritted teeth. She was bound to answer all his questions, and answer them truthfully. His eyes lit up at her answer.

"No? You mean they didn't escape from you? Did someone take them?"

"No."

"Then what happened to them?"

"They are obviously gone."

"Don't play games with me, Wraith. It's a dangerous thing to do and you know it. Now, what did you do with them?"

"I put them on an outbound cargo ship." Mata jumped on the response.

"What is the destination? What ship? Who is the pilot? Tell me his name!"

"Alta. The ship is the Allopath." She shut her mouth on her next words, visibly struggling to contain them. Mata slipped around the desk, nimble for his well-fed five-foot-five frame. He closed the gap until they were inches apart, only made angrier by the inches in height that she owned on him. "On your knees, whore." Wraith folded onto her knees, hands still behind her back as if at attention. "Look at me." She did, brilliant blue eyes sparking with fury. "Tell me. The pilot's. Name." She bit her lip so hard she broke blood vessels, causing a nasty-looking blood bruise. He swung, hard fist connecting solidly with her cheek. "Wraith, I order you to tell me his name now!"

"Riddick," she whispered. Mata went still, frozen in disbelief. It was impossible; Richard Riddick had the children? Richard Riddick was one of his biggest triumphs in his Company career, as well as one of his biggest dangers. Mata was the reason Riddick had been saddled with a criminal record in the first place. Mata was the one who had doctored Riddick's service record and presented it to the proper authorities, beginning Riddick's in and out life of crime. It had saved the Company a great deal of money and embarrassment, as well as creating new opportunities to capitalize on in the defense business. He reached and grabbed Wraith by the throat, squeezing slowly. "You have made a very large mistake, my pet. Very serious. But I will give you the chance to fix it. You will find Riddick's weakness. You will use it and get my children back. You will report to me tonight what you have found and you will execute your plan immediately after that. Do you understand?" She nodded, having trouble breathing. He released her and she gasped in a deep breath. "Get out of my sight." Wraith bowed her head, stood and exited the office. Mata watched her go, then returned to his chair. He had other things besides the children to worry about now.


	10. An Even Trade

Wraith waited in the darkness for some filth to come crawling along, staying still and silent so as not to spook her next prey. Inside, she was seething with fury at her own weaknesses. Mata knew where they were. He knew where they would land. He knew the pilot. He knew _everything_ because of her. She had known it was a possibility that he would discover it, but had hoped by the time he found out, they would be too far out of reach even for him. Plans went awry and Mata discovered her deception earlier than anticipated. His orders could not be disregarded, no matter how much she tried. She would report to him tonight, whether she wanted to or not, because she was bound to him and his wishes. The Council had granted her guardianship to Mata on her centennial, after she had been Chosen to join the ranks of the _Ngathi_. She did not question the demands of the Council, as she was devout in her belief that the Council were the direct messengers of Her, and followed in their bidding. Now she believed that the Lady had made an example of her – displease Her and invoke swift, divine retribution.

At least she had some time before answering to Mata. Although his orders were to discover Riddick's weakness, it was an order she could consider completed. She already knew it: kids. It was something she bet on when she stowed them away in the hold of his ship. After seeing his record and seeing him in action, she was convinced. Riddick had never once harmed a child during any of his "crimes," though there were several cases where children were present nearby the proceedings. In some cases, any children mentioned were nowhere to be found during the investigations and assumed dead, to be added to Riddick's considerable and heinous record. However, no one ever attached follow-up notices to the files when the children were found in community centers or taken in by higher-class folks, considerably better off than before Riddick's appearance into their lives. After his "death" in the Hunter-Gratzner crash, a man fitting his description appeared for a short time in the company of a Chrislam holy man and a teenage girl. Some weeks after being dropped on New Mecca, the man and the girl left the planet; the girl returned shortly after, but the man did not. Now the girl got sporadic anonymous payments, almost like child support. She would be nearly sixteen at this point.

A shuffling at the mouth of the alley brought her out of her reverie and she looked up to see two men grappling into the alley. She sniffed the air, smelling rusty alcohol and narcotics. She hoped Mata would take blood from her tonight; it was nearly time and it was be a tiny triumph if he was intoxicated because of her, for all he had ever taken from her in the past. She waited for them to come a little farther into the darkness before she flanked them and descended on her prey, a leopard on the hunt.

- - - - - - - - - - -

After Nico's little stunt, the children were not allowed out of Riddick's sight except to bathe, shit and sleep. Al kept tabs on them when Riddick could not. Although it limited Riddick's normal activities, he could no longer allow them to be labeled as "mostly harmless" in his mind. So he treated them like short-lifers, with him as captain. They ate together, exercised together and spent their downtime together. When Riddick worked on the _Allopath_, the children were there, occasionally helping but mostly watching. They learned quickly, something that simultaneously concerned and amused Riddick. Before long, Riddick was supervising them on short, easy tasks whenever they worked on the ship. He had managed to come up with some colony unisuits that were just a little big, but fit both of them well enough to allow them out of the limiting Chrislam robes. Now that Riddick had taken his position as alpha in their little family, the two children seemed more than happy to remain in the subservience of learning the rudiments of life on a ship as extended to living courtesies and ship maintenance. Riddick knew these things would help the kids get somewhere else once he dropped them on Alba, but contented himself with telling him that he was better off with the extra hands they provided. They were quiet now and did not object when Riddick gave orders, simply obeyed with questions for clarification. They did not slack or whine, which pleased their short-life captain fine, and they did not expect him to baby them like children, either.

Riddick was thinking all these things over while he watched Nico and Melena spar before he shook himself of his idle thought and actually paid attention. Both the little buggers were fast, which was a good thing, since their strength was only decent. Of course, this was compared to his own, so it would be unexpected if they pitted themselves against anyone else. They did well separately, but better as a team – just as well, considering they hardly split up. He nodded to himself as he stood slowly from his deep crouch in the corner. "Enough," he rumbled. The two stopped immediately, still at odds with each other, before Nico grinned broadly and enveloped Melena in a bear hug. Melena bore it with a soft sigh, resting her cheek on her brother's head. Riddick strode past them and out into the hall. "Wash up," he said as he exited, knowing the kids would be in the galley as soon as they were clean, ready for something to eat.

He keyed in his own meal as he waited for them to appear, leaving only two packets of blood out on the mess table for them. They knew how to work the machine, so Riddick often left them to their own devices. He had just gotten his meal when they walked in the door. He moved away from the machine and let them have it, motioning toward it with a jerk of his head while he moved around the offside of the table. Nico grabbed the two packs and took one to his sister while she keyed in their meals. They kept their backs to Riddick while they fed, looking over the selections on the small screen. He had never actually seen them feed, just the aftereffects of healthier color and increased physical traits. They always kept their faces away from him when blood was present. He was fine with that. He knew what it was like to taste blood and had no issue with them being private about it.

They were done with the blood by the time the machine gave up their third meal and they brought it over to the mess table. Riddick was half-done with his already, but the children never ate meals quite the size of his, anyway. They all ate in silence, the smell of sterilization and fresh blood hanging over them. When they were done, they threw away the remains of their meal and retired to the bridge. Small as the _Allopath_ was, there was no room for free space – the bridge had and did suffice. Riddick used the captain's screen as a reader, keeping starcharts and flash reports in the background. The children were allowed a screen each in the lesser chairs, with access only to the minimal ship's library. They were silent, reading through whatever they had each picked this time around. Riddick switched frequently between screens to look at starcharts, flash reports, trip log and the children's movements through the tiny net of the ship. Eventually their access went still; when he turned to look, they were both slumped over in their chairs, lit awkwardly by the screens before them. He rose silently from his chair and gathered a child in each arm to deliver them to their bunk. They felt like they weighed nothing, but he could feel the hard muscle beneath their skin borne from the work he was putting them through on the ship and in teaching them to defend themselves. He deposited the pair carefully on their bunk, pulled the blanket over them and left them to sleep, walking out of the room as silently as a breath.

He returned to the bridge and rubbed a hand over his forehead, letting out a heavy, irritated breath. He had yet to figure out how to deal with the situation he had been dealt. Wraith's charges, left to him. Wraith, one of the better killers across the board, hunted for spans of time only to vanish and reappear when most had forgotten her name, the most successful and wanted female as the human world at large knew. Most assumed it was a hand-me-down title from person to person, but now Riddick knew better. Wraith was the same person. Always the same woman, the same killer. A vampire – a huntress. And she had delivered him the children she was charged with. They seemed young, but so did Wraith. Vampires – legend dictated they could live for decades, centuries, without ever appearing to age. Were legends always true? In Wraith's case, yes – all but her real identity. In Riddick's case, not exactly. Who knew? The children likely wouldn't really tell him and he was not given to ask, not now. Part of him simply wanted the little buggers off his ship and away from him, in case they had run away and Wraith was on his star-mapped trail.

But part of him wanted them to learn as much as they could before he left them to their own devices on Alba. It was the part of him that was driving him to teach them about the ship and the basics of maintenance; about living on a ship with a crew and a demanding asshole of a captain; and about defending themselves as best they could, slipping through checkpoints and guards and using everything they could to survive. He dropped hints, but he was well aware of how quick they were to pick up on what he said. Like sentient little sponges. He hated himself for giving away life secrets to the streets; another part of him felt like he was betraying himself, telling these little pampered bastards how to make it on the street when he himself had nothing of the sort. But he quashed that part of himself quietly when he had these little arguments with himself, when the children were out of range or asleep or bathing, because he would have taken the blessed chance to learn from someone else.

If only he had gotten the chance, himself.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Wraith stepped off the ship without acknowledging any of the docking station attendants. Of course, it was expected here that she be quiet and unassuming, thanks to the all-encompassing black burqa she was wearing. The two men behind her were stolid, mostly silent types – much better than Miguel had ever been. The thought of Miguel brought a small smile to her lips. She waited patiently while her "escorts" completed business with the attendants, then stepped forward as they flanked her. They headed for a Company hotel, a quiet and unassuming building that blended well with average New Meccan standards. A double suite had been reserved for them; Wraith locked the door behind them and disrobed herself of the burqa almost immediately. She wore a skinsuit and tall boots beneath it. One of the men – Varón, the one who had dealt with Miguel – set the suitcase he was carrying on the dining table and stepped back to wait patiently. Wraith unlocked it and sifted through the various articles contained in it. Varón was silent, but his partner was fidgety, a novice to this particular work.

"What's the plan?" he rumbled finally. Wraith stilled for a moment, her eyes flashing to Varón momentarily. He waved his hand at the other man, but he did not take the hint. "Well? Aren't you gonna tell us?" She turned toward him, her face downturned as she kept her eyes on a particularly favorite knife, a blade with good heft and a gutter down the middle.

"What is your name?" she asked him softly, without looking.

"Hector," he replied.

"Hector, do you understand what is your purpose here?"

"No, you haven't told us the plan yet." She looked up at him and her eyes stopped him cold. She was irritated and it showed.

"Do you know what I am capable of, amigo?"

"I've… heard stories."

"Those stories must not have been quite true, then, Hector. If they were, you would know to be quiet." She stepped into his guard and he flinched. Her voice never rose in pitch, but the softness was more frightening than yelling. "You are here as my backup," she sneered. "Not that I require it, but… ¿El Señor, comprende? Dice que lo." _The master, understand? He said so._ Hector nodded slowly. "You will learn of 'the plan' when I decide to tell you. You will know your objective and when to carry it out. You will have all the information you need. If you fail, I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?" Hector's eyes widened considerably. She patted him on the cheek in a kind way. "Good. Now go sit down." He obeyed quickly. Varón remained standing at ease while she returned to her suitcase. She strapped the knife to her thigh in a drop holster, pulled a fitting bandoleer over her head and tucked another couple of knives there. She checked all the pockets for her necessary materials and turned to Varón. "Do you recall where it is?"

"Sí."

"Good. You will go there with Hector and scout for me. On a clear report, I will enter and retrieve the girl. We will leave immediately from there to the spaceport, where we will depart immediately. Hector will carry the disguises. I will leave the girl to you." She did not trust this new man to do anything extensive. She did not trust Varón, per se, but she knew him and his ability to carry out orders without hesitation.

"Sí, señora."

"There is to be no bloodshed without great and unavoidable reason. No violence. No attention. This is a quiet thing to be done." She looked over at Hector pointedly. "Yes?"

"Yes, ma'am." She nodded satisfactorily.

"Good. Link up, then. It is time to get moving. You two take the streets."

In the shadows of the roof next door, Wraith could see everything in the busy street below, including but not limited to the quiet recon of Varón and Hector. The house seemed quiet and dark, though the streets were still busy. With luck, the Imam and his family were sticking to their schedule and would be away for a few hours yet. The girl would be in the house alone. The perfect target.

"All clear," Varón's deep voice confirmed in her ear. "Proceed." Her silence was his only confirmation, though if he was watching carefully, he might see her shadow move from one roof to another with barely more sound than a cat would make. She crept down the side of the house toward the girl's balcony and its open doors. The weather here, as always, was balmy, warm enough to warrant leaving entrances open for the breeze.

Wraith landed silently on the balcony, pausing in her crouch to assess the situation. Her eyes were perfectly adjusted already, well-accustomed to the darkness, and she could see the girl facing away from the balcony on her right side. Wraith swept the room and saw no ready weapons nearby. She crept slowly toward the off-side of the bed, keeping a lookout for any movement from the girl or any weapons that might need removing from the girl's reach.

The girl. Audrey Maine Jackson, self-appointed "Jack," age sixteen years and two months, enrolled in a private girls' school and foundling in the home of Abu al Walid. Runaway from an abusive home life, an escapee from an uncharted planet, and now financed regularly by an escaped convict. Coming up on her, Wraith had to work to ignore the sharp pang of guilt that ran through her stomach. Audrey Maine Jackson was a very pretty young woman who slept with a crease in her forehead, as if she were concerned with something in her dreams. Wraith had the drugged cloth in her left hand, wrinkling her nose at the sickly-sweet smell of the sedative on it. _Forgive me, my dear,_ she mouthed as she closed in on her mark. _This is not personal. I wish you knew that._

Wraith was almost on her when Jack's eyes snapped open a split-second before she sat up in the bed, swinging a telescoping baton at Wraith's head. Wraith bowed backward to miss the hit intended for her left temple. When she stood straight again, Jack had flipped over to the other side of the bed with the baton still in hand and a homemade shiv in the other. She was ready for the fight, dressed in tank top and shorts, glaring at Wraith. The vampire straightened and considered her target for a moment, admiring the little human's will.

"What's up, pussycat?" Jack snapped with a half-feral smile on her lips. "Come looking for a good time?"

"If you resist, I will be forced to hurt you, Audrey," Wraith informed her sadly. This was an unexpected kink in the plan. Wraith had to bring the girl in, but she had not really expected to do it by force. Jack only laughed softly.

"Get out of my house. Especially out of my room. Or I'm gonna have to bust you up." Wraith shook her head with a sigh.

"Very well." She was across the bed and in front of Jack in a half second; she saw the girl's eyes widen to twice their size in shock before she swung the baton in a wide arc. Wraith ducked to miss it and nearly ran cheek-first into the point of the shiv. She grabbed it with her free hand, ignoring the cut it opened in her palm, and jerked it from Jack's grasp to drop it on the floor. With the same hand, she reached up and grabbed the baton, using it to twist Jack's arm behind her in a submission hold. Jack slammed her head back into Wraith's cheekbone. With a hiss of pain, Wraith pulled on the captured arm and locked her other hand over Jack's throat, effectively silencing the girl's yelp of pain and beginning the hold to knock the girl out. The sedative would have been easier, but Wraith had dropped the rag in the struggle and had no time to get it back now. Jack would simply have to black out the hard way. She leaned in to speak to Jack while the girl's consciousness faded.

"Forgive me, my dear. This is not personal. My master's orders, you see. You are the key to getting back something that was removed from his possession." Jack's eyes were rolling and her voice was hoarse. Only a minute or two more, now.

"What… why?"

"Riddick, Audrey. Riddick has something of my master's." The girl's eyes widened.

"No…" she protested weakly, trying to fight Wraith's hold anew. No use, though, as her oxygen level was far too depleted. She was out in a matter of seconds, slumping in Wraith's hold. Wraith waited a moment or two more before releasing her throat and retrieving the rag. She made sure the girl was breathing properly before holding the rag over her mouth and nose, letting the girl breathe in the sedative. When she was satisfied, she picked up the shiv, the baton and tucked them away with the used rag before stroking Jack's cheek gently. "This is not personal. It is my fault. Maybe one day you will understand." She hefted Jack over her shoulder, went to the balcony and jumped over the rail without a second thought. She landed in a deep crouch, straightened slowly and met with the waiting figures of Varón and Hector.

"Varón," she said softly. The man turned and headed for her voice, stopping when she touched his arm lightly. He and Wraith covered the girl in a burqa, and he settled the girl in his arms, as if she were sleeping or sick, while Wraith adjusted her own burqa. She let Varón know when she was ready and the three of them headed back for the spaceport, Wraith in the middle. They did their best to avoid notice and almost succeeded until they were nearly on top of their ship. One of the station guards called for them to stop as he strolled toward them. The men looked to Wraith for instruction; she stopped in her tracks and turned toward the approaching man, placing herself just in sight between Hector in front and Varón and the girl behind her. The guard stopped and looked them over, his gun slung carelessly over one shoulder.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked finally, motioning with his chin toward Varón. Wraith was silent, so the big man spoke up.

"The lady's sister, Officer," he rumbled carefully, as if he did not want to disturb his charge. "She is very weary."

"If she's sick, you gotta leave her."

"No!" Wraith exclaimed plaintively, stepping forward just to stop short of Hector's arm, her arms out in silent supplication. "My sister not sick. She is trouble... you understand? She has problem here, yes? She comes home for rest. Please, no trouble." Hector looked down at her, bewildered, and she bowed her head suddenly as if afraid for speaking out of turn. Her speech seemed to do the trick, though, as the guard looked over them one more time and nodded.

"All right. Long as she ain't sick, you can go." He waved them away almost imperially. Wraith ducked her head, whispering thanks to him as she tugged Hector toward the ship's landing. She did not drop her act until the ship's belly was closed and they were safe from any unwanted visitors. She removed the burqa impatiently, tossing it over a rail in the hold.

"Secure the girl, Varón. Make sure she is comfortable." He bowed his head and disappeared into the ship with Jack still unconscious in his arms. Wraith stretched out tight shoulders and hips, breathing deeply as she did so. "Hector, go make sure we are ready to lift off, if you please." He left without acknowledging his duty, but Wraith ignored his attitude. When she felt comfortable in her own skin again, she went to the bridge and sat in a shadowed crewman's seat where she could help if needed. She shivered after being seated for a moment; the seat was cold, as was the ship. She would have to add a layer or two to keep herself functioning. As it was, she stared at the back of Hector's head while he got them cleared for takeoff. He showed no sign acknowledging her presence, talking quietly to Control through the head mic he was wearing. She was about to get up and go check on Varón when the big man appeared. He stopped next to her chair, stooping slightly in the low-ceilinged cabin.

"She is secured, señora," he said quietly. She patted his arm a moment.

"Bueno. Gracias, Varón. Ahora, vayámosnos de aquí. Tengo que hacerlas no que esperar." _Good. Thank you, Varón. Now, let's go from here. I have things to do that can't wait._ Varón assented and slipped into the co-captain's chair next to Hector. Wraith belted herself in and tuned out the clearing process for takeoff. When Control began counting down, she shut her eyes and breathed deeply, controlling herself as best she could. She hated ships, hated planes, hated anything that was not solidly on the ground including, perhaps especially, trips through cold space. And most of all, she hated liftoff and touchdown. When the ship finally rattled its way toward the stars again, Wraith gritted her teeth and dealt with the faint spikes of nausea in her middle. She was a warrior; ships could not control her, no matter what the universe had to say about it. After long minutes of torment, the ship leveled out, now on course for Delphi II. She settled herself with a will, then unbuckled her harness. "I'll be making the transmission in the girl's room." She left the cockpit and found the girl in one of the small bunks branching off from the mess, strapped down carefully and still covered with the burqa. Wraith checked the girl's state and, satisfied that she was still well under the spell of the sedative, stripped Jack of the burqa and her sleeping clothes. She covered Jack with a black skinsuit, much like her own, and strapped her back to the bed with padded restraints. She did not want the girl to hurt herself or anyone on the ship. She wanted her to be as comfortable as possible in her mild and hopefully temporary captivity. She smoothed the girl's hair away from her eyes gently, grimacing at the sight of bruises on her throat. She ignored the feel of her own injuries; they were negligible at best, despite a slowing healing capacity in this chill.

"Forgive me, dear child," she murmured softly. "I did not intend to harm you. And you will not be harmed while under Dom Mata's care. I will see to it myself." She nodded as if Jack could see. "You are very important to Riddick, Audrey. Very important. You might wish that you were not, but it is the truth. I will not harm him if I can help it. I only must get the children, and then you will all be released." Wraith was not sure if saying these things out loud was wise, but it resolved something inside her that balked at the idea of using Jack like fish bait. However, she knew that Lorenzo Mata could intend other things than what he told her and there would be little she could do to gainsay him. For now, though, she was determined to hold to her word. She stood and went to a media cubby, where a recorder and a playback screen sat recessed into the wall by the door. She accessed the recorder, took a deep breath and began to record her transmission.

"Riddick. I wish we could meet again under different circumstances, but God has not seen fit to make that so.

"You have the two children, Nicolao and Melena. You will return them to me immediately, untouched, or unfortunate actions will be taken. I'm sure we understand each other, yes? Please accept my regret for the circumstances. I am well aware that the situation at hand is not what is desired."


End file.
